


season of the snake

by Another_Freak1258



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has Breasts (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Betrayal, Branding, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Feral Crowley (Good Omens), Gaslighting, Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Innocent Aziraphale (Good Omens), Large Breasts, Love Confessions, Male Crowley (Good Omens), Mutual Non-Con, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Painful Sex, Rape Aftermath, Sex Pollen, Something Made Them Do It, Victorian Attitudes, takes place shortly after the holy water fight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Another_Freak1258/pseuds/Another_Freak1258
Summary: After Hell catches wind of him fraternizing with Aziraphale, Crowley undergoes a behavioral adjustment which amplifies his demonic nature.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> READ THE TAGS. DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU DON’T WANT TO READ AN ANGSTY RAPE FIC. 
> 
> Anyway! Time period is approximately 1869, a few years after Crowley asks Aziraphale for the holy water. Also, I had to make Crowley stronger than Azira for plot purposes, but I think they’re about equal in strength.

If this weren’t such a serious matter, Crowley would simply be annoyed for being called Downstairs right before he intended to have a good century-long nap. However, as he waits in the dank room outside Beelzebub’s office, the demon is quite sure him and Aziraphale have been found out. Crowley has no clue who could have possibly been watching them. It’d be much easier to plan lying his way out of the situation if he did. 

Crowley’s already resigned himself to death. It’s not like Hell just gives you a slap on the wrist when you step out of line. 

The only hope that remains in the demon is that Heaven is ignorant of this report. Crowley cannot bear the thought of her being hurt or killed because of him. Hopefully she’s tucked away safe in her bookshop, ignorant of Hell’s discovery. 

Their fight seems so trivial now. Crowley regrets how he handled the situation. Even if. . . Even if Aziraphale _does_ care for him, doesn’t see their relationship as fraternization, it’s no surprise she’s more worried for her own safety. Providing a demon with holy water would be insanely incriminating if she was caught. Crowley put her in an awkward position and shouldn’t have been surprised by the angel’s rejection. He should’ve—

The door to Beelzebub’s office opens and Crowley looks up to see Dagon gesturing for him to enter. He ignores how difficult this it is to walk without his knees buckling and takes a seat across from the Prince. 

“Crawly,” Beelzebub grumbles. Crowley doesn’t have the spine to correct them. “Unpleasant as alwayzz. What’zz this, then?” They look at Dagon, awaiting the proper paperwork. 

Dagon presents Beelzebub with a relatively small file, preening in the subtle way she’s apt to do. She hovers over Beelzebub as they flip through the papers, admiring the bullet points and highlighted sections. Crowley fights the urge to nervously pick at his scales. 

“Interesting. . .” Beelzebub raises an eyebrow. They typically wear a bored, apathetic expression, but whatever is in the file has them looking almost confused. 

Crowley sits up a bit straighter than he normally would in hopes of seeing if there’s any pictures included. Alas, this does nothing to settle his nerves. 

Beelzebub closes the file, squashing several flies in the process. “I muzzt zzay, I am dizzappointed in you, Crawly.” They sneer at him. “It zzeems your ego is getting out of hand. While your accomplishments on Earth are mozzt impressive, there is no excuse for _slacking_.”

Unhelpfully, Dagon nods. “Quite a missed opportunity. Think of all those frivolous you could’ve wasted on the humans who witnessed you discorporate an angel in broad daylight.”

A botfly bites Crowley’s left knuckle. Beelzebub rubs their face and says snidely, “Why didn’t you attack?” 

Crowley swallows. His mind races with excuses. As an idea pops into his head, he adopts a nonchalant demeanor. “Because I know that my adversary has recently set up some sort of angelic base of operation.” Crowley doesn’t feel guilty disclosing this information since he’d never tell Hell about the bookshop’s whereabouts. “I’ve been trying to find it. Wouldn’t do any good if I couldn’t follow my target around.” 

Beelzebub blinks at him for a few moments, considering his words. 

“And I must’ve been close,” Crowley adds. “Since we ran into each other.” 

While Beelzebub is still thinking it over, Dagon must have decided Crowley’s excuse is airtight because she looks much less happy all of a sudden. She spitefully scribbles something down on a piece of parchment.

A fly crawls over the wet surface of Beelzebub’s right eye as they ponder Crowley’s words. Crowley believes he might’ve got them with this one. Unfortunately, he’s a nervous talker, and continues to fill the tense silence. “‘M sure it’s full of heavenly secrets ‘n’ maybe even a holy weapon or—“

Beezlebub raises their hand to signal for Crowley to shut up. “That’zz not your division. I want you wreaking havoc, not zzpying.” They sigh before continuing, “I need less hizzing and more bite from you, Crawly. Thankfully, it’zz nothing a behavioral adjustment can’t fix.”

Crowley assumes this means torture, which is a much better punishment than he expected going into this. He nods sharply, nostrils flaring as he nearly deflates in relief. He’s gotten the impression that Heaven is unaware of this situation.

Out of Beelzebub’s view, Dagon bites her thumb at Crowley. He suppresses the instinct to return the gesture. 

Beelzebub instructs Dagon to take Crowley down to Demon Resources to have his behavior adjusted, which catches him off guard. He’d anticipated being led to the Pits. Hm.

Dagon is silent as they walk down together, save for the sound of her sharp fangs grinding together. Crowley doesn’t have the energy to antagonize her and keeps quiet himself. He doesn’t pay attention while she’s speaking with a disposable demon, worrying about Aziraphale. 

“Eat this and then fuck back off topside, snake,” Dagon growls once she returns, holding out some kind of flower. Crowley’s well-versed in botany and he doesn’t recognize it. Well, it’s not like he has a choice.

Feeling silly, Crowley eats the flower as she watches. It tastes bitter and unpleasant. He coughs. Dagon huffs and leaves the room, having fulfilled her duties. 

Crowley turns to look at one of the disposable demons. “When did we add vegetarianism to our roster?” he jokes, hoping to have the plant’s significance explained to him.

The demon doesn’t laugh, shaking his head seriously. “Serious stuff, that devil’s snare.” He seems intimidated by it. Crowley frowns. 

Another nameless demon scoffs. “Don’t be a pussy. It makes you feel powerful. You’ll want more after it’s outta your system.” They look at Crowley with envy. 

Feeling more confused than he did before asking, Crowley rolls his eyes and starts his journey back to Earth. He‘ll worry about the stupid flower later. First, he needs to make sure Aziraphale is okay. 

* * *

It is deep into the night when Aziraphale is pulled out of her reading by a loud knocking. Startled, more like. There’s rarely anything good waiting on the other side of the door at this hour! Conversely, there’s the possibility someone may be in trouble, so it becomes her responsibility to check. Aziraphale tries to feel selfless and not annoyed as she reminds herself of this. 

Aziraphale sets her book among the rest of the pile and gets out of bed. She doesn’t sleep and never intends to, but beds are a delightful place to curl up and read after a long day of ignoring customers! She enjoys the nightwear, too. 

“Oh,” the angel whispers, looking down at her attire. She hates using miracles to dress herself, but sees no choice in the matter. She’s currently wearing a beautiful nightgown, which is modest enough for these circumstances, but the angel cannot be seen without a corset! Aziraphale snaps her fingers and promptly wheezes as her torso is squeezed by the unrelenting fabric. 

She glances in the mirror as another round of knocking begins, fixing her hair haphazardly. Aziraphale sighs at her reflection. The corset improves things, but doesn’t do much to hide how fat she really is. Her breasts look ridiculous! They are supported too well by the corset, straining against the buttons of her nightgown. Aziraphale forces herself to look away and goes downstairs. 

Aziraphale peeks through one of the curtains to get a look at who is disturbing her at this hour. She gasps when she recognizes the perpetrator as Crowley. 

Aziraphale has spent the last few years feeling dreadfully guilty for what she said to him last. Fraternizing. . . Crowley knows she’s just afraid of losing him, surely. He’s probably here to apologize himself, the thoughtful dear. Aziraphale’s stomach fills with butterflies as she unlocks the door and blinks up at Crowley. 

Crowley looks strange. His posture is stiff and he’s breathing heavily. He looks down at Aziraphale’s nightgown. 

“Crowley. . .” the angel whispers, stepping aside for her friend to enter. “Is something amiss? You don’t look well.”

Crowley enters wordlessly and watches Aziraphale lock the door behind him. “Let me fix you something to drink.” She leads him to the sitting area fretfully, touching him far more than is appropriate. Aziraphale blushes at the realization and dismisses herself. 

The demon stays exactly where she’s put him while she makes him some coffee, knowing he’d take that over tea. Aziraphale serves it with a worried expression. “Dear?” 

“T’ks,” Crowley mutters, but he doesn’t touch the cup. Aziraphale wishes she could request he remove his tinted glasses, but knows it isn’t her place. “I was Down There earlier. Someone reported our _fraternizing_. Had to lie my way out of it.”

Aziraphale is so shocked to hear this that Crowley’s jab almost flies over her head. “Oh, goodness.” She puts a hand over her mouth. 

Crowley explains to the angel what he told Hell, but his voice is unenthused and cold. It leaves Aziraphale with the impression that while Crowley isn’t leaving out any information, he’s irritated he must catch her up to speed. 

“Then. . . You think Heaven was not informed?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley growls. “No. I think you’re perfectly safe,” he answers mockingly. “They would’ve summoned you already, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale hugs her stomach, looking away. She feels stupid for asking. “Of course. I am sorry, dear.”

“Yeah, you always are. . .” Crowley intones. 

The angel frowns at Crowley’s hostile attitude. He’s never spoken to her this harshly before. Not even during their last disagreement had he sounded so cruel. Aziraphale figures he’s been through a lot today and deserves to let off some steam. “What did they do to you?” 

Crowley takes off his hat and sets it beside his coffee. “Nothing that will stop me from waiting on you hand and foot, angel, don’t you worry.”

“Crowley, please!” She shutters. “I am ashamed of what I said to you. But you must understand,” her eyes dart to the ceiling, “I am afraid.” 

Her words do nothing to melt Crowley’s icy attitude. In fact, he doesn’t look like he’d been listening at all. Crowley smiles at her, but it isn’t friendly or warm. . . It makes Aziraphale nervous. But that’s preposterous! Crowley is her friend. 

“Taken to sleeping, have you?” Crowley rasps. 

Aziraphale looks down at her nightgown and blushes. “Ah, no. But I am rather fond of Victorian fashion,” she explains, running her fingers over the frilly collar. 

Crowley growls again. “Why don’t I help you with that before I leave?” he asks, pointing to Aziraphale’s corset. 

“I suppose that’d be alright,” Aziraphale answers timidly. Crowley’s seen her in much less, but the idea of him undressing her makes her uneasy. At least, with how he’s acting at the moment. But it’s _Crowley_ , at the end of the day. 

The demon stands, towering over her for a couple seconds too long before he steps aside and helps her stand. Aziraphale gasps when he yanks her forward rather roughy, taking hold of her lace-covered wrists with an iron grip. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cries, looking at him with confusion.

A long line of drool escapes the corner of Crowley’s thin lips. “Can’t make it all the way upstairs, angel,” he pants, as if that explains his actions. Aziraphale tries to pull away, but the demon holds her close to him as the distance between them decreases. 

“Crowley, what is the meaning of this?” Aziraphale squeaks when Crowley crowds her against a nearby bookshelf. Although he slams into it with a decent amount of strength, the shelves know better than to tip over. 

Crowley is too preoccupied to humor Aziraphale’s question. He presses his hips into the meaty flesh of the angel’s upper thigh, groaning loudly. 

“O-Oh!” Aziraphale yelps. She feels Crowley’s _erection_ through the thin fabric of her white dress. His erection! Rubbing against her thigh. “Crowley, please, stop! I don’t under—stop, this is scaring me. . .”

Through the thick fog of lust, Crowley realizes he can use his powers to hold Aziraphale in place. He thanks himself for his genius before doing just that, pulling his hands away.

Aziraphale watches him step away with wide eyes, trying in vain to move. She’s completely immobilized. “Why. . .” she whines, becoming genuinely afraid. Why is Crowley doing this? Aziraphale thought he cared about her! They’re friends, aren’t they? 

“Fuck, look at you. . .” Crowley appraises the plump body pinned in front of him. He abruptly takes hold of her hips and nips one of her breasts through the thick cotton of her clothes.

“Ah!” Aziraphale writhes to the best of her capabilities. Which isn’t much. “No! Stop!”

Crowley pulls away again in order to miracle away the angel’s clothing, relishing in her sweet cry of disbelief. 

Aziraphale’s corporation is absolutely beautiful. Crowley nearly comes in his trousers from the simple sight of her exposed. Her breasts are massive, swinging side-to-side teasingly as Aziraphale struggles against his demonic hold. Her nipples are a deep pink, erect and covered in a sheen of sweat. The angel’s belly is deliciously soft and plump, covered in golden stretch marks. Resting between her thighs is the softest place Crowley will ever know. 

“I can’t believe you’ve kept this all to yourself,” Crowley gripes, reaching out to squeeze and abuse Aziraphale’s huge breasts. “I deserve this after waiting for so long.”

Aziraphale shakes her head, the movement causing tears to slide down her flushed face. “No, Crowley,” she hiccups pathetically. “Please, don’t hurt me!”

Crowley’s right hand trails down to paw at Aziraphale’s dry folds. Her vulva is softer than Egyptian silk. “You fucking slut,” the demon hisses. “I know how much you want this, that you’ve dreamed about this.” 

“No! Stop it, Crowley!” 

He forces a finger inside her virgin entrance, mouth latching onto one of the sobbing angel’s nipples. Crowley sucks and nipples the tender flesh, his cock aching within his trousers. The demon can think of nothing past his own demonic desires and needs, courtesy of the devil’s snare. Crowley bites Aziraphale’s breast hard enough to leave a colorful mark and admires his work. Fuck, he wants to leave bruises and bites all over this innocent angel. . . 

Aziraphale cannot comprehend how or why this is happening. Was everything Crowley told her since the Beginning a lie? Was this his plan all along? She loves Crowley, even though she can’t admit that out loud. How pathetic she is for falling for a demon that sees her as a piece of meat. Aziraphale starts crying violently as she becomes convinced Crowley never cared for her. She thought she’d always have Crowley to rely on, but. . . Look where her trust got her. 

“No, please, it _hurts_!” the angel weeps as Crowley adds another finger. The stretch is painful and dry, but grows wetter the more the demon moves his fingers. Aziraphale is relieved to find the wetness has nothing to do with her level of arousal. 

Crowley laughs. “If you think this hurts, just wait ‘till I get my cock in you, angel.” He grinds cruelly against her, moaning at the friction. The pleasure spurs him into undoing his trousers. Crowley spits in his hand and gives himself a few strokes as he stares at Aziraphale’s bouncing tits. He needs to fuck those later. 

Aziraphale looks down at Crowley’s raging erection, whimpering at it’s intimidating size. The demon’s cock is thick and long, exactly how you’d imagine a demon’s cock to be. “No!” she shouts. 

“I’m going to rip you open,” Crowley says with a hungry grin. “‘N’ you’re gonna take it like a good little angel.”

Shaking her head, Aziraphale’s crying halts when she’s suddenly backhanded by the demon. Despite what he’s done so far, Aziraphale can hardly believe he’d hit her like that. 

“You listen, bitch,” Crowley demands, adopting the same tone he uses when he yells at his plants. “You’ve waved yourself in front of me ever since we met. Walking around in white, borderline transparent robes—your slutty tits pushing against the sheer fabric. The crack of your ass visible as you bent over to pick fruit.” The demon’s angry voice becomes filled with desire as he continues to recount instances Aziraphale was unaware of. Crowley licks and bites the pale column of her neck. “You’ve always been a bloody tease.”

Aziraphale wails. “Please, I didn’t mean to!” she promises. “Crowley, I had no intention of. . . Teasing you! Please, I am sorry!”

Crowley lines up his throbbing cock with Aziraphale’s virgin pussy, aroused out of his skull. He’s never felt so horny in his life. And _strong_.

“Ah!”

Crowley lets out a long moan as his spit-slick cock enters the pious angel. “Fuck!” he exclaims wantonly. “You’re so tight, oh my God. . !” 

“Take it out! Take it out!” Aziraphale’s struggling is renewed at the sharp pain of something so thick and long penetrating her. “Crowley, please, have mercy!”

That is the wrong thing to say. Crowley smacks her again, growling. Worse, the demon starts moving his hips. “ _Mercy_!” he laughs. “You want me to show you mercy? After all the trouble you’ve been? You owe me, angel.” Crowley fucks forward with quick, powerful thrusts. The pleasure lightens his mood and makes his balls tingle. 

Aziraphale, bless her heart, continues to writhe against Crowley’s demonic hold as if she can free herself. Crowley praises her, “Keep squirming like that, slut, I like watching your tits sway back and forth.”

Crowley twists her nipples once she stops struggling, finding it difficult to stop his eyes from rolling back. It was worth waiting so long to have this. He looks down at his cock drilling the bound angel, noticing the golden ichor covering his arousal. “What’s it feel like, Aziraphale? To have a lowly snake defiling your holy cunt? Do you feel dirty?”

Mentally exhausted, Aziraphale can do nothing but nod despairingly as she sobs softly. How long will this continue? Will Crowley leave once he. . . Finishes inside her? Or. . . Perhaps, he intends to keep her forever, now that his true nature has been revealed. Maybe he’ll just kill her. Aziraphale is terrified to learn what fate awaits her. 

“You are dirty. I’ve sullied you.” Crowley groans like a feral animal at his own words, hips stuttering. “Soon I will fill your cunt with demon cum. You’ll be tainted forever. Maybe you’ll even Fall.”

Aziraphale screams, thrashing wildly. To her, Falling would be worst than dying. 

Crowley’s eyes roll back as the distraught angel clenches stressfully around his blood-soaked cock. He feels himself getting close and digs his claws into Aziraphale’s plump ass. “Get ready, angel.” Crowley pistons his hips, face buried in Aziraphale’s sweaty neck. He bites her pulse point hard as he begins ejaculating, a flood of infernal semen filling the angel. “Yes!”

Eyes closed tightly, Aziraphale prays to be forgiven. She sniffles involuntarily as the demon lazily mouths at her sore breasts. Every second that passes where she’s still an angel feels like a gift. 

Crowley pulls out of Aziraphale with a contented sigh. It dawns on him that he hasn’t even kissed the angel, just skipped straight to the grand finale. He cups her wet face and starts to kiss her. 

Aziraphale quivers, traumatized. She’s wanted to kiss Crowley for awhile but not like this. It’s invasive and scary. Crowley is scary. 

“Don’t cry, angel,” the demon whispers gently. “It’s okay that you liked it. Nobody will know.” Crowley kisses her eyelids lovingly. “I understand now. Hell helped me understand.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil’s snare continues to work its infernal magic, feeding directly into Crowley’s most demonic desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: azira is a very insecure angel 😔 crowley is a horn knee meanie

Aziraphale snivels wetly as Crowley continues molesting her. His touch is now soft and without hurry, but still just as unwanted as before. But, thankfully, he doesn’t seem frustrated by the fact she is making no effort to kiss him back.

Shaking horribly, the angel tries to make sense of what new place she has in this reality; the reality wherein Crowley is her dastardly enemy, hellbent on corrupting and hurting her. Aziraphale lets out a sharp cry that is swallowed by Crowley’s hot mouth. How can he treat her this way. . . There must be no love in his entire being for this to be possible. All the propaganda she’s heard about demons was never propaganda, but a warning to naive angels like her. 

Crowley’s lips finally stop their assault but he’s still in her circle of grace, only a breath away as his yellow eyes rove over her with perverted awe. Aziraphale glares at him with tears clinging to her long eyelashes. 

“You’re so gorgeous, angel,” the demon whispers, slitted pupils blown wider than she would’ve thought possible. “ _My_ angel,” he growls, wiping away her tears. 

With her adrenaline plummeting, Aziraphale is acutely aware of her wounds; she clenches her empty hole, pushing out blood and cum. It stings terribly, like liquid fire. “No,” she denies with a growl of her own, angry in light of Crowley’s betrayal. “Unhand me, beast!”

Crowley’s look of reverence evaporates. “You still deny me?” he says through clenched teeth. Aziraphale’s rage is momentarily overshadowed by disbelief. Crowley sounds offended. What gives him the _audacity_? She is the victim!

His claws scrapping against her abused skin, Crowley takes a few loud steps back and squints at her. Under different circumstances, he’d look quite silly, furiously pacing in front of the angel with his cock swinging about. Maybe if his cock wasn’t covered in Aziraphale’s ichor it’d be funny. 

“How can you—“ Crowley grunts, taking a moment to tuck away his manhood. As she envies his ability to move freely, Aziraphale notices for the first time that he isn’t wearing pants. “Even now that you’ve given yourself to me biblically, you still deny _us_?” 

Aziraphale becomes hysterical. She laughs, voice shrill. “Given?” the angel shouts. “I haven’t given anything! You’ve stolen it all!” The reminder of her lost virtue conjures another bout of tears. 

Crowley smirks. He’s calmed by Aziraphale’s accusation—although, smug may be a better word. The demon is deeply satisfied with himself for sullying Aziraphale before anyone else had the chance. Him and him alone have invaded the sweet angel’s body and spilled seed inside her. Any ethereal or occult being could take one whiff of her and know she belongs to him. 

“Ye _sss_ ,” the demon hisses, pleased. “I’ve conquered you. . . My beautiful angel. . .” And just like that, he’s back to stroking her sides comfortingly, like he wasn’t fuming with anger moments before. Crowley’s always been a tad unpredictable, but this is insane! His behavior is giving her emotional whiplash. 

_ Hell helped me understand.  _

Aziraphale recalls Crowley’s post-coitus comment with furrowed brows. For some reason, it gives her pause. What did he mean by that? Is there a possibility. . . There’s something bigger going on here? Aziraphale contemplates Crowley’s actions before he attacked her. He mentioned returning from Hell before coming to check up on her. How much power do they have over him, exactly? Could they be behind this? 

Aziraphale feels as though she’s onto something but the unfamiliar sensation of exhaustion is catching up to her. As she sadly regards Crowley, the demon she’s quietly pined for, all she wants is to rest. She wants. . . Comfort. Aziraphale’s heart breaks at the possibility of never feeling safe and cared for again. Crowley has been the only one to ever inspire those feelings. Aziraphale realizes she isn’t sure if she can survive without him.

“Don’t cry, angel.” Crowley kisses away her tears, licking away the salty anguish. Aziraphale suddenly falls into his arms, no longer held in place by his demonic powers. “I’m sorry for not anticipating your. . . Confusion. You’ve always been scared to let me lead, I understand. But now that I’ve found the courage to give us both what we want, you don’t have to worry anymore. No one is going to come between us.” 

Aziraphale wraps her chubby arms around Crowley’s neck as he carries her. His kind words flutter around her like butterflies, leaving wispy kisses against her skin. “Crowley. . .” she whimpers, confused and timid. 

“You’re mine now,” Crowley states. Aziraphale is inclined to believe him. 

* * *

Crowley watches Aziraphale fall asleep in his arms, hardly able to believe that he’s bearing witness to such a beautiful sight. He’s so lucky. Aziraphale’s never slept before, despite his recommendation, and Crowley is endeared to discover she looks even more like an angel as she slumbers. 

Once he’s able to stop admiring Aziraphale, the demon contemplates his next move. It doesn’t take long for him to come to the decision of bringing Aziraphale to his flat. After all, what’s stopping him? 

The demon snaps his fingers and they’re promptly teleported to his bedroom. It’s dull and barely furnished, the dark room only containing a large bed and a desk he uses for work. Aziraphale will surely fuss about the lack of decor and personality, whatever the latter means. Crowley lays the naked angel on his bed and tucks her in, purposefully leaving her large breasts exposed. Satan, is she a painting. . . 

Aziraphale’s tits are peppered with hickeys and teeth marks, courtesy of Crowley’s overeager mouth. They’re massive, still touching each other in spite of gravity pulling them towards opposite sides of her body. Crowley feels his cock twitch and thicken as he ogles them. 

Crowley had full intentions to let his angel sleep for awhile. She’s had a very big day and the poor thing doesn’t do well with change. Crowley wanted to go get her something to eat for when she woke up, but he simply cannot help himself. 

The demon clambers onto the bed, palming the front of his trousers. “Wicked thing. You should know better than to be so tempting, my love.”

He rolls down his trousers not unlike he did before, exposing himself enough to move his hips comfortably. Crowley miracles some lube, making to smear it onto his erection before thinking better of it. “Actually. . .” Snake eyes teeming with lust and mischief, Crowley raises the bottle and tilts it so that a thin line of goo escapes from the cap. He wants, enraptured, as the thick fluid runs down Aziraphale’s big tits, making them gleam under the candlelight. “ _Fuck_.” 

The lube travels slowly down the abused flesh, gathering at the angel’s sore nipples. Crowley’s cock drips pre-cum onto her tummy as she whines in her sleep. 

“You do deserve a rest, don’t you?” Crowley coos sympathetically. The prospect of waking Aziraphale up isn’t pleasing to him. Hm, well. Why not have his cake and eat it too? He leans down to whisper into his angel’s ear, “Sleep, my love. Sleep and dream of whatever you like best as I fuck your irresistible bosom.” 

Crowley tosses the lube aside and takes hold of said boson, moaning as his long fingers massage the sticky sacks of fat. “So generously endowed,” the demon compliments, practically drooling. After eons of imagining the sight of Aziraphale’s bare breasts, it is no less than a dream to touch them. 

They look even prettier shiny and wet, Crowley thinks. He tries to twist her nipples but finds it difficult to do so with the lubricant coating them. 

Scooting up, Crowley makes himself comfortable on Aziraphale’s abdomen before guiding his cock between her sticky breasts. He pushes them together as to create a nice hole for him to fuck. And once he gets a rhythm down, _fuck_ he does. 

“Angel,” Crowley groans in rapture. “God damn, I love your tits.”

The sight of his straining cock sliding between the angel’s tacky breasts is just as intoxicating as it had been to see it disappear into her pussy. Crowley’s pre-cum finds a nice reservoir in her collarbone and he thrusts into it to spread it around. He won’t be satisfied until every inch of her has known his seed. 

Crowley ruts carelessly until his desire reaches its peak. He pulls away and desperately jerks his throbbing cock, aiming the crown appropriately. The demon comes with a pleasureful yell, eyes trained downward as rope after rope of cum paints Aziraphale’s huge tits. 

Once his breath steadies, Crowley takes hold of his cock like a paint brush, using the sensitive head to rub cum into Aziraphale’s flushed skin. She has a smile on her face as if she’s experiencing a particularly wonderful dream. Crowley smiles back. 

“Such a good angel,” Crowley sighs, resigned to the fact he can’t play with her tits for eternity, however grand that would be. He needs to go get his angel something scrummy to calm her nerves. Aziraphale can always tell when the food has been miracled, so Crowley knows he can’t take the easy way out. With a parting bite to Aziraphale’s right nipple, the demon dresses himself dapperly before leaving the flat. 

* * *

When Aziraphale wakes up, there’s only a second of ignorant bliss before her corporation’s ailments make themselves known. She sits up with a pained groan, clutching her sore breasts. “Oh!” the angel gasps, pulling her hands away when they come in contact with the syrupy residue coating them. “Oh, goodness! I’m—“ As her overtaxed mind takes note of her nakedness, Aziraphale remembers the precursor to her slumber. 

“Crowley,” the angel whines, looking around fearfully. This must be his bedroom. Only Crowley would have a flat so empty and lifeless, much like the demon’s soul it would seem.

Aziraphale assesses her surroundings. She isn’t chained, but that doesn’t mean Crowley hasn’t taken precautions to prevent her from leaving. For all the angel knows, the bedroom door could lead to nothing but an abyss. Crowley’s always been so awfully creative, his powers never limited by his ranking because he’s never thought of his own weakness. Aziraphale thinks this is what makes him such a formidable foe. 

_Foe_. Oh, dear. Crowley is her enemy now, isn’t he? Her blue eyes burn with tears. Regardless of how Crowley treated her yesterday. . . Aziraphale can’t imagine demanding he never speak to her again; can’t imagine him donning the role of her adversary or dueling with him. Crowley may have hurt her, but. . . It’s not like Heaven is any better! Gabriel is cruel and intimidating, but he still loves Aziraphale. He says it all the time! Furthermore, Heaven is unwelcoming and cold, but Aziraphale knows she’s still loved. The other angels treat her as incompetent and useless, sure, but they are all a family at the end of the day. 

Crowley handling Aziraphale so gently all these years was an anomaly for reasons more complex than just because he happened to be a demon. 

Aziraphale’s thoughts are temporarily interrupted as she feels a cramp in her Effort. She blushes immediately, understanding why she’s so tender down there. Crowley taking her was very painful. Aziraphale previously imagined, if they ever made love together, that she’d moan and writhe like Eve had as Adam lazily thrusted into her. 

But maybe there was never a chance for that? Crowley expressed that he was absurdly pent up after being denied so long. And Aziraphale had teased him for millennia! Unaware or not, it’s no wonder Crowley was so rough. It’s not like Aziraphale is a master of self-control herself. 

“How indecent,” the angel mutters, running her fingers through the cum drying on her chest. _How did that get there?_ Either way, Aziraphale feels the need to have a long soak in the bath, but is too paranoid to venture out of the bedroom. She miracles herself clean and debates doing the same for a set of clothes. She can’t waltz around Crowley’s flat in the nude! But, oh, Aziraphale hates miracling up clothing. . . 

Suddenly, the bedroom door swings open, and Crowley enters. He’s dressed to the nines, carrying a silver breakfast tray. Aziraphale’s initial reaction to seeing him is relief and joy, but then a sense of foreboding overcasts all else. She isn’t in any rush to be mounted again. Is that now something that can happen at any time? Or will it be another four thousand years before Crowley loses control again? 

“Angel,” he greets, setting the tray on her lap. Aziraphale pulls the covers over her bruised bosom once she remembers herself. How improper! She comes close to apologizing before telling herself it’d be a tad ridiculous if she did. Crowley was the one to expose them in the first place! “Got you some breakfast.” 

Aziraphale licks her lips as the smell of corn bread reaches her upturned nose. “Oh, it smells absolutely delightful!” She tucks in.

The angel could very well refuse the breakfast and have it out with Crowley, but that sounds dreadful. Fighting with him brings her nothing but pain. Aziraphale is thankful for the time alone she was allowed because it put things in perspective for her. And it appears that her fears have little merit! Crowley still cares for her. Why else would he bring her breakfast in bed like nothing happened between them? Maybe he feels that they’re even now after the strife she caused him over the holy water. 

Crowley sits on the bed next to her and watches her eat like he’s done many times before. Something new, however, is that he reaches out to fix her disheveled locks. Aziraphale longs for a mirror. Her ribbons and pins must be all out of place! It’s an insult to a gentleman like Crowley to see her like this. 

“Stop pouting, angel,” Crowley laughs. Yes, he’s in a much better mood than he was last night. Aziraphale wishes to pick his brain but finds herself scared of retaliation. She still loves the demon, but her trust in him has been destroyed. She doesn’t feel safe speaking her mind anymore. The realization turns the delicious boiled egg in her mouth sour. She swallows and sets down the cutlery. 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. Maybe she’s overreacting. Was Crowley truly so horrible to her yesterday? It seems unlikely. Perhaps the pain exaggerated what was really happening between them. . . Crowley’s never hurt her before, why start now? Gabriel’s told her many times that she has a tendency to get confused and remember things incorrectly. 

“What happened yesterday?” Aziraphale whispers. 

Crowley hisses, but it’s out of contentment. Aziraphale’s long since categorized the noises he makes. “I did what we’ve both wanted since Eden,” he boasts. “I took what you were too selfish to give me.” 

Aziraphale blushes, shameful. It’s hard to hear what Crowley has been too nice to admit all these years finally come to light. She never wanted to tease him or be selfish. The angel had privately hoped he understood she loved him dearly but could not risk their respective sides finding out about them. Better to keep Crowley at a distance than to risk his life. 

At the sound of Crowley’s fingers snapping, Aziraphale flinches. The silver tray is gone. She’s a bit annoyed she didn’t get the chance to finish her tea. 

“I think the whole thing was mostly for show,” Crowley continues. Aziraphale tries to understand what exactly he’s talking about. “Dagon was there, like always. I think if she weren’t, the conversation would have gone a bit differently.” 

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Beelzebub doesn’t exactly _like_ me, but they always give me a break.” Crowley rarely talks about Hell beyond complaining about his coworkers and assignments. Aziraphale finds it odd that he’s speaking so carelessly now. They have both always been vague when it came to work. “They were upset I didn’t discorporate you, though. They seemed to pick up on my reluctance to hurt you.” 

Aziraphale is both touched and horrified by the idea of Beelzebub noticing Crowley likes her too much to attack her. She takes the demon’s hand and squeezes it. 

“Were you punished, my dear?” 

Crowley grins. He shakes his head as he answers, “Nah. They gave me some devil’s snare to clear my head ‘n’ sent me on my merry way. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Aziraphale’s never come across such a thing before. She’s happy to hear Crowley found the process enjoyable, however. She’d hate to be the reason for his punishment. But she wonders if Crowley’s change in behavior has anything to do with this mysterious devil’s snare. . . “Why’s that?”

“Cuz you’re here, in my bed, _naked_.” Crowley slips his free hand underneath the blanket and cups Aziraphale’s breast. She wiggles uncomfortably, frowning. Aziraphale would rather not be touched right now, she’s still trying to understand their predicament. And. . . It sounds scary. Crowley _did_ hurt her, whether it was warranted or not. Aziraphale sweats nervously. 

Crowley’s forked tongue tastes the air. The flavor of Aziraphale’s fear is intoxicating, but is accompanied by bad associations. Crowley is confused as painful memories of Aziraphale being hurt and stressed accompany the delicious smell. He has no desire to banish her fear now, why did he then? 

“I was so excited to have you,” Crowley continues. “I didn’t have time to explain before. We don’t have to worry about Heaven or Hell anymore, angel.” He squeezes her hand back, but it’s less reassuring and more suffocating. Aziraphale tries to pull away but Crowley doesn’t allow her.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale frets, shaking her head. What Crowley is saying is impossible. If Gabriel caught them like this, God forbid, Crowley would be smote to ash and Aziraphale would be recalled to Heaven. And if Hell caught Crowley being so sweet with her, they’d destroy him for disobeying their orders. There never will be a happy ending for them, as sad as it is to acknowledge. They’re doomed, much like Juliet and Romeo were. 

Crowley clicks his tongue and chuckles. Aziraphale’s face burns as she feels patronized. Crowley’s expression is akin to Gabriel’s when he infantilizes her. “You’ve spent so long convinced our sides must remain ignorant to our relationship that you prevented yourself from seeing the obvious solution!” Crowley cackles excitedly, using his hands to gesture wildly. “They can’t know we love each other, yeah, _but_ —“ Aziraphale gasps. Since when is Crowley so unafraid to speak his feelings? He _loves_ her? Aziraphale hoped for as much but to hear him say it so casually, she misses the rest of his spiel. 

“You love me?” Aziraphale gushes, any fear of him vanquished as Crowley’s confession rings in her head. 

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Of course, angel. Where the Hell have you been the past four thousand years?” 

Aziraphale would love to tackle Crowley and see if there’s any way for them to lay together that would be pleasurable for both of them, but Crowley’s admission is ultimately pointless. Aziraphale may know her feelings for Crowley are mutual, but they can never be together. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale weeps. The tears had started out of joy but are now sorrowful. “I love you dearly, Crowley,” she whispers, glancing at the ceiling. If anyone is watching this interaction they’re in a world of trouble. “But our love must remain a secret.” 

“No shit, you stupid bitch,” Crowley says with a scowl, irritated. “Weren’t you bloody listening?”

Crowley’s sudden hostility is alarming. She wipes her eyes slowly, remembering the last time the demon spoke to her so cruelly. Aziraphale doesn’t want to spur him into violence, slumping in submission. 

Crowley scoffs. “You weren’t, were you?” He rolls his eyes behind his sun spectacles. “I _told_ you, they won’t think we’re in love. They’ll think I’ve taken you for myself.” 

“T-Taken me?” 

The demon licks his lips, nodding. “Taken you, captured you, _enslaved_ you. . .” Crowley lists the last synonym with enthusiasm. “However you’d like to put it.” Crowley’s thumb soothes over the crease between Aziraphale’s eyes. “Heaven will be under the impression I’m more interested in keeping you for my own pleasure than discorporating you. Hell will be jealous I’ve got an angel hanging off my cock. Win-win.” 

Crowley takes off his sunglasses and looms over her. As Aziraphale struggles to respond, the demon kisses her fiercely. “I’ll probably get a commendation for it. Corrupting an angel, that is.” 

Aziraphale doesn’t like to think of herself as corrupted. She’s still an angel, at least. Which, if anything, is proof that loving Crowley isn’t enough to make her Fall. Not that she’d ever point that out to Gabriel. 

Pushing against Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale shakes her head in disagreement. “No,” she denies, finding several problems with the demon’s apparent revelation he had last night. “Crowley, that’s preposterous! Heaven would never allow what you’re describing!” 

Crowley looks at her for a few moments before breaking out in laughter. Aziraphale refuses to cry at his reaction, but she certainly feels like it. Why is he laughing? This is a serious matter! 

“You - you really think,” Crowley cuts himself off, unable to cease his hellish snickering. “You really think Heaven would _care_ ?” The demon grins at her, teeth sharp and inhuman. “Do you really think Gabriel would sound his horn if you missed a scheduled meeting? Send out a fleet of angels to rescue you? Ha!”

She’s too weak to stop the tears. Does Crowley really think that? More importantly. . . Is he right? Gabriel cares. . . Heaven would be in uproar if Aziraphale was captured by a demon, she’s sure. Right? 

Crowley kisses her forehead. “Angel, we both know nobody Up There cares about you,” he says matter-of-factly. Aziraphale blubbers at the demon’s confidence. 

“Geez, haven’t you cried enough?” Crowley complains, smacking her face. Not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to get her attention. “It’s reality, angel. ‘N’ it’s a _good_ thing at that! Those feathered bastards will leave us in peace.” 

Crowley’s proposal has made her so sick that the angel can feel her breakfast fighting to make a reappearance. Aziraphale shakes her head again. “No. . . My b-bookshop. . .” 

The demon huffs. “Love is about compromises, you know that, right?”

Aziraphale shakily gets out of the bed before she can lose the nerve. She miracles on a dress thoughtlessly, stumbling a bit as she starts a step with no shoes on and finishes it with heels. The angel tries to compose herself before addressing Crowley. “My d-dear, I appreciate the thought you’ve put into this, but it simply w-won’t do. I would thank you for the breakfast.” Aziraphale shuffles towards the bedroom door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

The angel shivers at his tone. Aziraphale knows she’s playing with fire, but she could never live how Crowley’s suggesting! It sounds like he’d have her lounging in his bed all day if he got his way. Well. . . Maybe that wouldn’t be _so_ terrible, but Aziraphale is very fond of her bookshop! And dining out. 

“I’m going back to mine,” Aziraphale states with as much conviction as she can muster. She turns back to the door only to find the handle gone. Before she can pick up her skirts and look back at Crowley, he’s behind her, hands on her plump hips. 

Crowley bites her right earlobe harshly, making the angel squirm and squeal. His hot breath causes gooseflesh to erupt on her concealed arms and legs. “Why do you always make things so difficult?” the demon grumbles, sounding like Aziraphale is only causing him a minor inconvenience. “You may not like it now, but this was inevitable.” 

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale questions, whining when his large hand wraps around her throat. 

“What do you think is going to happen to all the pretty angels like you after Armageddon?”

The mention of the End of Days makes Aziraphale go shock still. They’ve only discussed Armageddon once before, centuries ago, when they were both extremely drunk. Aziraphale had been the one to mention it, pointing out how they’d be forced to battle each other. She had wept, admitting she’d never be able to strike him with any sort of weapon. Crowley had wept, too. He assured her that he’d been thinking about Armageddon and would find a way to protect her. 

“Heaven will lose,” Crowley promises. “‘N’ we will take any survivors as spoils of war.” If Aziraphale’s dress wasn’t so thick, she’d be able to feel the demon’s hard cock poking her behind. “Trust me, there was a seminar about it last month.” 

Aziraphale’s eyelashes flutter as she processes this information. Of course, Heaven is planning to eradicate all demons after _Heaven_ wins. Aziraphale is positive that good will triumph over evil, but doesn’t dare voice her opinion. Crowley’s hand is still around her neck. 

“I was going to suggest this much later down the road,” Crowley reveals. “Ease you into the idea of it. But I just don’t care about waiting anymore.” 

The demon forcibly spins her around so that they’re facing each other. Crowley holds her by her arms, wordlessly staring. Aziraphale wishes he would say something, only to regret it when he starts speaking. “Imagine a collar around your neck. . . Me dragging you by a chain in front of all of Hell. _Satan_ , if I don’t make Duke for that, I never will. . .”

Aziraphale mewls. She knows that she is at Crowley’s mercy, and he hasn’t been very merciful as of late. 

Crowley loses his sadistic glare and kisses her sweetly. “I’m doing this for you. For both of us. You’ll see.” He smiles boyishly. “When have I ever steered you wrong, angel?”

* * *

Dagon’s eyes scan through the horde of blank documents with minimal irritation. She’s annoyed to be filling out paperwork for Crowley specifically, but the act of doing so in and of itself is one of her favorite things. No reason to let Crowley ruin the experience. 

She spots the document she was looking for and wastes no time filling it out as she walks, entering Beelzebub’s office. 

“My Prince,” Dagon addresses them absentmindedly. They notice her scribbling away and try to appear disinterested. 

It is required to have a follow-up meeting after a behavioral adjustment. Demons have proven too unruly to meet while under the duress of the devil’s snare; when they’re coherent once more, they must report to Hell every despicable deed they committed while away. This can usually be done over the phone, but Beelzebub wants to schedule an in-person meeting. Dagon doesn’t ask why.

Beelzebub flips through their calendar filled with uninspiring quotes. “When will Crawly’zz dozzzage wear off?” 

Dagon pulls out a calculator. “I’ll have a memo sent to him in,” Dagon pauses. “Fifty-three years.”

Beelzebub nods and writes this down in their calendar, right under the quote of that day: _Always do the best of someone else_. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale isn’t too keen to be a part of Crowley’s dastardly plan. Measures must be taken to assure her compliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot heavy chapter! Mind the updated tags and enjoy 💜

Crowley is impressed by Aziraphale’s defiance. For as long as they’ve known each other, she’s been an obedient little thing. But, the demon considers, that obedience belonged to Heaven. She’s _always_ chose Heaven over him. Crowley kicks himself for thinking this would be easy, for thinking she’d willingly give herself to him. Trust him. It’s unfortunate things have to be this way—Crowley would prefer his angel to never know pain, as satisfying as it is to see her in it. Aziraphale forces his hand, however. 

As Crowley presses chaste kisses along the tense flesh of his angel’s neck, a burst of holy energy hits him square in the chest. The demon flies back, yelping. He lands on the hard ground and hisses instinctively at the sensation of being smote. 

“Gah!” Crowley exclaims, limbs curling and uncurling. 

Before he can reprimand the naughty minx, Aziraphale is picking up her skirts and headed for the door. Crowley watches, writhing in agony, as she evidently decides this situation warrants a miracle. She disappears, no doubt teleporting to the bookshop. 

Crowley isn’t sure what she intends to do in light of ‘escaping’ him. Although, that’s mostly due to the fact he can’t think straight as her angelic wrath pulsates through his veins. Aziraphale didn’t smite him as throughly as she could’ve though, the dumb angel. Crowley looks down at his charred hands as he grinds his teeth together. The pain wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t all encompassing. And if he didn’t know that his angel was the reason behind it. 

“Aziraphale. . .”

* * *

Aziraphale allows herself a moment or two to panic silently before jumping into action. She only has a few minutes before Crowley recuperates, but he won’t be powerful enough to teleport directly to her. He’ll be forced to take a horse and buggy. Or, at least, that’s what the angel is counting on. . . 

She attacked his demonic essence, which _should_ leave him worse off than he’d normally be. Weaker and dazed. Aziraphale thinks there’s no way he’d be able to brush off being smote like that. But if there’s one thing for certain, it probably served to make him very angry. She’s afraid of what the consequences of harming him will be. 

_It’s not like I had a choice!_ Aziraphale thinks to herself as she frantically gathers candles and grimoires. She blows dust off a large book, in too much of a hurry to be upset when she sprays a few drops of spit on the ominous cover. 

Aziraphale has never warded a building for her own benefit before. However, there have been several instances throughout history wherein she had to assist certain humans with warding. The Plaques she remembers the most clear, but that had nothing to do with protection from demonic presences. Any time in the past Aziraphale warded against demons it was to protect innocent families from evil. Never did the angel expect to ward her own property from. . . From. . .

“Oh!” Aziraphale cries out, the reality of the situation hitting her. She never imagined that a day would come where she’s fearful of Crowley and his intention. But all that talk of _enslaving_ her was rather frightful! How could he have expected her to react positively to that? And, apparently, he’s been thinking about it for years! “Oh, my heart. . .” 

The wards are drawn shakily, but Aziraphale has no time to make them perfect. What’s important is protecting herself and her bookshop until Crowley comes to his senses. Hopefully this is all a big misunderstanding. Maybe Crowley’s particularly tired after his last visit to Hell and needs to lie down for a long nap. He can get rather antsy when he’s denied such things. 

Aziraphale tries her best to stop shaking when it comes time to light the candles. After lighting the last wick, her wet eyes fall upon the bookshelf Crowley pinned her against yesterday. Aziraphale glances down, gasping as she sees a mixture of cum and ichor dried on the floorboards. A phantom pain ripples throughout her Effort. 

The memory causes her to collapse. Aziraphale clutches the spell book she’s holding tightly as she cries. She weeps on the ground, staring at the spot she was defiled. 

“No. . . No!” Aziraphale sobs loudly. She presses the grimorie to her face and hides behind it. The angel feels like Crowley is upon her this very moment, invading her resistant body with sharp, painful thrusts. His cock tore her so easily! Despite all the erotic she’s read, Aziraphale cannot imagine sex feeling any other way than that. Humiliating. An act of conquest. 

Demons cannot love. Aziraphale must remember this when faced with Crowley’s false affection again. He’ll only hurt her, again and again, in the name of love. It’s less difficult to be confused about this when she’s only a few feet away from where he raped her. 

An hour must pass before Aziraphale feels something amiss. She stares at the closed shop windows, knowing something evil is lurking behind the curtains. Crowley is here. 

“Oh, please.” Aziraphale clasps her hands together in prayer. “Merciful mother, my God, please protect my shop and my person from harm. And I humbly beg of you, give me the strength to endure this pain!” Aziraphale is suddenly reminded of when she moved into the bookshop. How Crowley gifted her chocolates and assured she stay stationed on Earth. She bites her bottom lip and continues. “Please forgive the demon Crowley, Serpent of Eden, for his transgressions against me. He is usually quite a nice demon, you see. Please. . . Let this dark cloud over him pass. Amen.” 

Aziraphale makes an attempt to hug herself, but the material of her dress makes it an impossible feat. She gets to her feet, mindful of the candles. The last thing she needs is for a fire to start! 

_ Tap tap tap. _

The angel whimpers, knuckles turning white as she holds her skirts steadfastly. “We - We are closed until further notice!” Aziraphale shouts on the off chance the visitor isn’t Crowley. “Mind how you go!” The noise persists. 

“Crowley, I demand you leave this instant!” Aziraphale beseeches with a voice of authority. Perhaps his demented mind will respect her if she invokes respect. 

At her outburst, the knocking finally stops. Aziraphale feels relief at her fingertips before the problem escalates. She is in no way prepared to see her letterbox wedged open by a black cane. “Angel,” a calm voice comes through the opening. “Remove those nettlesome wards and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

Aziraphale shakes her head fiercely. “Out of the question!”

“Always gotta give me the run around, don’t ya?” Crowley chuckles. His tone is playful, as if Aziraphale hadn’t recently smote him in order to get away from him and his bruising touch. “Can’t say I didn’t try to do this the easy way. I’ll make things real simple. Are you listening?” 

In spite of her fear, Aziraphale creeps closer so that she can hear Crowley better over the hustle and bustle outside. 

“There’s a lovely little family out here window shopping, angel. Bet you can feel their love from all the way in there.” Crowley taps his cane against the metal of the letterbox, producing an unpleasant ringing sound. “If you don’t remove those wards, I’m going to slaughter them.” 

Aziraphale cannot believe what she’s hearing. “Crowley!” she chokes, miserable. The prospect of opening the door, submitting to Crowley’s will. . . It’s unthinkable, especially after remembering how badly he brutalized her. What’s similarly unthinkable is Crowley hurting a human— _killing_ a human. He’s never done anything of the sort! The demon has proved to be more kindhearted than Aziraphale at times. But after experiencing an attack by him firsthand. . . She can’t underestimate him. She can’t risk the lives of others by calling his bluff. The Crowley she’s known most of her life isn’t the same Crowley behind that door. Right? 

“You don’t want to be responsible for their deaths, do you?” 

Aziraphale knows he’s got her beat. She couldn’t live with herself if she allowed Crowley to take a life on behalf of her. The Flood alone left her emotionally drained for years, and that wasn’t even something she directly carried out! She can’t imagine the grief and guilt she’d forever carry if Crowley—No! There’s no use thinking about it! She won’t allow it. She needn’t fear for this family’s safety, only her own. 

The angel uses the heel of her shoe to break the wards. Crowley must feel the spell breaking as plainly as she does, because the second the deterrent is gone, he enters the bookshop. Aziraphale freezes where she stands, watching him with wide, bewildered eyes. 

Crowley is singed. This hurts Aziraphale to see. Smiting Crowley was one of the most difficult decisions of her life. She’s been having to make a lot of those lately. 

“Didja have a chance to smell my charred flesh before you scurried away?” the demon asks. Aziraphale folds into herself as Crowley’s gloved fingers tug on a blacken section of his facial hair. It pulls away from his face without resistance. Pointedly, Crowley holds out the ashes a few inches away from the angel’s face before dropping them. Aziraphale gags as the burnt aroma reaches her nose. “Not very nice, huh?” 

The angel shakes her head jerkily. Aziraphale feels pathetic for the remorse and love she feels for Crowley. Then again, she was created to love. Maybe it’s impossible for her to hate, just the same as it’s impossible for Crowley to love. 

Crowley basks in Aziraphale’s guilt for a time. The misery that emanates from her is thick and delicious. Not to mention the lost expression plastered on her sweet face! He’s going to enjoy delivering her punishment for this stunt. 

The demon draws attention to the bag he’s carrying by giving it a good shake. It’s large and detailed with genuine leather. Anyone would assume Crowley to be a doctor if they saw him carrying it. “It’d be nice if I could just trust you not to betray me,” Crowley says. “But I shan’t be foolish enough to do so again.” He uses his powers to pin Aziraphale to the nearest surface, which happens to be the fireplace. It was alit the night before, but since run out of kindling. 

Aziraphale whines, fearing Crowley’s intentions. She does everything in her power to avoid breaking down, but when the demon snaps his fingers and she’s suddenly nude, Aziraphale begins to cry. To add insult to injury, the fireplace cover bites into her bare ankles.

“Shh,” Crowley soothes, digging around in his bag. “‘M not gonna fuck you, angel. Not that you aren’t a tempting sight—but I gotta get you sorted before we can get back to the fun stuff.” He produces a short iron rod from the bag. It isn’t for blacksmithing or resetting logs, Aziraphale thinks dizzily. It’s for cattle or slaves. 

Aziraphale’s mouth falls open but she doesn’t dare speak her mind. Is Crowley. . . ? _No_ —

Crowley conjures a ball of hellfire. The fire roars and crackles menacingly in Crowley’s palm, far enough away from Aziraphale to pose no threat but close enough to make her extremely anxious. “What - What are you doing?” the angel asks timidly. 

The demon holds the end of the branding rod over the hellfire, smirking. “Don’t fret, my love. This’ll be common practice in the future. . . I need to make sure nobody thinks you’re up for grabs. Having my sigil branded into your skin will prevent any confusion.”

Aziraphale feels a scream forming in the depths of her throat. Touching an iron heated with hellfire will certainly kill her! It will be secondhand, but no less an infernal flame! “But—I cannot. Hellfire will!” she struggles to articulate, words coming out like shattered glass. 

The hand conjuring hellfire wiggles its fingers. “Ah, I guess you wouldn’t know,” Crowley mumbles to himself before addressing her worries with a confident and sure voice. “This is perfectly safe—Well, it won’t kill you. Does have the nasty side effect of sapping you of your powers, but. You won’t be needing them anymore, anyway.” 

The hellfire disappears and Crowley takes hold of the heated rod with both hands. The demon’s sigil is red hot and it suddenly hits Aziraphale that Crowley is going to be branding her. 

“NO!” Aziraphale screams, struggling desperately. She takes a deep breath, preparing to shout again, but no sound comes out. The angel looks at Crowley in distress. He’s taken away her voice! 

Crowley chuckles, turning his attention to her naked body. “Now, where should I put my mark?” he asks as the angel silently cries. He’s tempted to brand one of her massive tits, perhaps the meat of her ass, or maybe the soft flesh of her belly. The demon reaches out to thumb Aziraphale’s hooded clit. “This wouldn’t be a bad spot either. . .” His fingers pull away, ghosting over the gorgeous golden stretch marks marring thick thighs. “It’s hard to choose. Every inch of you is just as beautiful.” 

In the end, Crowley knows there’s only one appropriate place to burn his brand. 

He needn’t use more of his demonic strength to hold Aziraphale still because the closer the iron gets to her skin, the less she struggles. Crowley smiles at her, excited for the future and their love, as he presses the brand firmly into his angel’s chest, right above her heart. 

True to what Crowley claimed, the infernal heat doesn’t incinerate her entire being. However, the pain is far greater than any discomfort Aziraphale has ever felt. The rod is so hot that she’s convinced it’s going to sink through her corporation any second, like a knife in warm butter. There’s no way for her to withstand this amount of pain and survive. She isn’t sure she wants to anymore. 

The iron disconnecting from her skin marginally lessens the pain. She hadn’t ever considered how necessary is was to verbalize pain; there is no relief. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmurs, admiring the sigil. The image of him is blurry as he stands behind a sheen of tears and steam. “ _Beautiful_.” 

Aziraphale wants to close her eyes but the absence of sight makes the burning sensation more acute. She is forced to stare at her assailant, mute, terror-stricken, and immobile. The smell of her cooked flesh is strong and pungent; the angel thinks absently of Saint Lawrence. 

Crowley reluctantly miracles her clothes back on, finding it a travesty that his sigil is hidden as a result. He consoles himself by remembering there will be endless opportunities to admire the angel’s branded chest. What need will she have for clothing once he’s locked her away for safe keeping? 

The angel collapses into his waiting arms once he’s freed her from his demonic influence. She moans, a miserable, high-pitched sound that’s distinctively human. Crowley uses his handkerchief to dry her face. 

It’s difficult to support Aziraphale, carry his bag, and make use of his cane, but Crowley manages. As they’re walking out the door, the demon deliberately knocks over one of the lit candles. He glances at the angel in his arms, smiling when she finds the strength to jolt in alarm.

“No,” the angel chokes. 

Crowley brings them to the front of the bookshop. Aziraphale finds she cannot support her own weight, much less stop the fire from spreading. Her efforts to miracle away the flames are fruitless. Aziraphale weeps as the books scattered on the floor are thoughtlessly consumed. 

_My powers. . . Can it be. . . ?_ Aziraphale has not lost the inspiriting knowledge of God’s love, but her connect to Heaven itself, the source of her powers, has been severed. She’s helpless. Mortal for all intents and purposes outside of death. 

Aziraphale faints.

Crowley cranes his neck so that he may kiss Aziraphale’s upturned nose. Then, the demon takes to the streets,  ~~ lover ~~ captive in tow, and heads to Mayfair. 

“Good sir, how fares your wife?” a concerned jockey asks. 

“Quite well,” Crowley assures, loading the angel into the carriage. “You know the fairer sex, always with their ridiculous fainting spells!” 

* * *

  
Crowley almost leaves Aziraphale free of chains since she’s powerless anyway, but reasons it would be good for her to experience. Later, after demonstrating she’s a good girl, he’ll grant her the privilege to roam about freely. 

He leaves Aziraphale bound in holy chains, asleep on his bed, and goes to Hell. 

Usually, the rotten, mildew scent that permeates the air in Hell disgusts Crowley. He distinctly recalls how it made his skin crawl not two days ago. Now, for whatever reason, it smells like home. And it will be soon, if all goes according to plan. 

_It isn’t just the smell_ , Crowley thinks to himself, joining the Legion of the Damned in their march. The ambiance, the decor, his fellow demons—it’s all so terribly wonderful. He’s never felt so content in Hell before. The idea of spending eternity down here, with Aziraphale, is brilliant. Crowley is brilliant. _Why did I wait so long to do this?_

It’s impossible to get a meeting with Beelzebub out of the blue, but that isn’t what Crowley’s here for. He’s here to apply for a property permit, one of the angelic variety. 

Since Armageddon has yet to come, the concept of owning an angel is novel. There aren’t rules and regulations yet. But it _will_ involve paperwork. Crowley must make sure all his ts are crossed, every i dotted, so that he can rest assured Aziraphale will remain in his possession. The thought of her becoming the plaything for some random demon. . . It boils his blood. Crowley will be blessed if he lets something so dreadful happen to her. 

Lady Luck continues to shed her good fortune on Crowley. He enters the filing room, pleased (for once in his life) to see Dagon. 

“Crawly?” Dagon is visibly confused. She looks at him as if he’s the last demon she expected to run into. Crowley wagers that isn’t far off. 

He waves at her wordlessly, a big smile on his face, and walks up to the wall of forms. Crowley theatrically searches through a few of the racks before clapping his hands together and spinning on his heel to face Dagon. “You wouldn’t have one of those slave permits printed out yet, hm?” 

Dagon snorts, dead eyes leaving her clipboard to snark, “Frankly, we don’t give a damn who or how many mortals you own Up There. Shouldn’t be wasting my time with such rubbish.” She continues writing. 

“Oh, I’m not talking about a human slave.” Crowley’s grin sharpens when Dagon’s hand freezes mid-sentence. She shoots him a skeptical glare. 

“What in Satan’s name are you on about, snake?”

Crowley would normally ham it up, maybe admire his fingernails as he humblebrags about himself, but he’s too smug at the moment. He can’t look away from Dagon’s face, anticipating her impressed bitterness. “That devil’s snare really did me some good, y’know?” He speaks slowly, as to let the following information sink in. “Found my Adversary’s base of operations. Burnt it down. No holy weapons to speak of, unfortunately. But! I did brand that pesky principality. With my sigil, of course.” 

It’s immensely satisfying to see Crowley’s words astound Dagon. She’s speechless. Moreover, fascinated and jealous. His ego is well-fed by her reaction. 

“Might’ve been a bit presumptuous of me,” Crowley admits, pulling a face. “But she’s _my_ Adversary. Would’ve claimed her after the Great War anyway.” 

“. . .Right. . .”

Crowley crosses his arms, restless despite his confidence. “Right,” he agrees. “So I’d like to formalize my claim. Make it easier for you ‘n’ management in a few decades. ‘M sure there’ll be _quite_ the waiting list for angels once the dust settles.” 

Dagon blinks, jerking her thumb towards the door. “Let’s. . . Prince Beelzebub is. . . Er, follow me.” She shuffles unsurely out of the filing room, gait becoming more steady with every step towards Beelzebub’s office. Crowley looks forward to seeing their reaction to his accomplishment. 

Unsurprisingly, it takes awhile to get everything sorted. But not only does Crowley leave Hell with the reassurance Aziraphale belongs to him and him alone, he leaves a Duke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Crowley’s gotten a promotion! 💕

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any mistakes! Hope you enjoyed 💜
> 
> [My Twitter!](https://mobile.twitter.com/Denny_Trash1258)


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